


A New Experience

by LonelyIntrovert



Category: Call the Midwife, pupcake - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, New Character - Freeform, gateways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyIntrovert/pseuds/LonelyIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patsy and Delia's first time at Gateways.  They meet a new friend and explore new ways of having fun.  Lots of Patsy and Delia character development and interaction.  Delia tries to guess how long it takes for them to bang, Patsy discovers she's a pushover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dancing with You

“Deels, are you sure this is the right place?”

“Well, this is what you wrote down,” Delia responded with a trace of exasperation.

The two companions were plastered against the wall of shop, peering warily around the corner. Around them an autumn dusk had descended, making the air slightly nippy as a breeze blew past them, ruffling their hair. Patsy was leaning over Delia, her scarf brushing the top of Delia’s hair. The two were nervously examining a building across the street, where a few women had begun to gather. The wall of the building was unmarked and plain white, except for the simple green cellar door facing them. The group of women leaned up against the building’s wall, talking amiably amongst themselves or smoking cigarettes.

“Well…I mean…It looks like the right place…” Delia began thoughtfully.

“Sure,” Patsy said sarcastically, “but it also looks like some voodoo witchcraft type where they try to summon-”

“Patsy, for God’s sake!” Delia glared up at Patsy from underneath the ginger’s chin.

“Sorry.”

After a few more moments the group began to grow in numbers, though they were strangely muted in the village streets. Patsy glanced at her watch.  
“It’s 8:00,” she said stated. Almost as if in response to her idle comment, the green door cracked open and people began to file in one-by-one, the door methodically opening and closing after every entry. Delia bit her lip and straightened before nervously looking at Patsy.

“Do you have the password?” the Welshwoman whispered.

“Right here,” Patsy whispered back, waving a slip of paper into view. They stood there another silent moment, unsure of how to proceed.

Adjusting her purse strap, Patsy murmured, “Deels, I don’t know about this…”

“Well, we sure as hell didn’t come all the way here for no reason,” Delia tutted.

Instead of responding, Patsy let out a slow breath and nodded.

“Fine.”

The two glanced back at the door to find that seemingly out of nowhere, a woman would systematically dart across the street and rap on the door, murmur softly, and then disappear into its depths every few moments. 

“Ready?” Delia asked, a tremor in her voice.

Patsy squeezed her hand and nodded before the two set off, side by side towards the other building. The gravel of the road crunched unnaturally loud and the dark seemed to close in on them. The two nervously glanced all around them but saw no one in sight. As they neared the green door, Patsy picked up the distinct sound of music from inside the cellar. 

Standing on the doormat, Delia reached up with a trembling hand and rapped twice, her other hand holding Patsy’s firmly. There was a pause.  
The door snapped open a few centimeters just enough for a pair of eyes to materialize behind the drawn door chain.

“Password?” a gruff voice demanded.

“…erm…Pup…cake?” Delia guessed, glancing down at the slip of paper Patsy proffered her. The door shut momentarily before it was thrown wide and they were ushered in by an eccentric-looking woman with short-cropped hair and wearing men’s breeches. When the door was shut, the woman sized them up.

“I don’ recognize you two,” she said, “Y’all new?”

“Yes,” Patsy interjected. She could feel Delia trembling beside her.

To her surprise, the woman extended her hand and shot them a wide grin.

“Ma’ name’s Marlow,” she said warmly, “Just wander down them steps and mind that you talk to Gina and tell ‘er you’re new.”

She looked as if she was about to say more, but then the trio heard a distinctive knocking on the door, and they were ushered down the stairs. The throbbing music grew louder, and the air condensed with cigarette smoke and body heat. The stairs were rickety, and when they reached the bottom of them the two came to an open door. What they saw made their jaws drop.

The room was expansive, though it was hard to discern the true dimensions due to the very dim lighting. Music blasted from somewhere, and right in front of them was a throbbing mass of people moving in rhythm with the tune. Along the wall was seating, and there were even some booths placed underneath headlamps, though no one seemed to occupy them. Ducking to avoid the low ceiling, Patsy stepped forward, Delia at her side. At the opposite side of the room, Patsy saw a wide arrangement of bottles stacked on top of each other against the wall, behind the counter. 

Upon spotting the bar, Patsy tugged Delia forward, past the dancefloor. The women were very close to each other, and some were openly groping each other while others were strictly a couple. Swallowing nervously, Patsy brushed passed the last group and the two were at the bar.  
A woman with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail looked up at them expectantly.

“Yes?” she asked loudly, above the throbbing of the music.

“Um…we’re new, uh…” Delia shouted back, taking a step closer.

“I can tell!” the bartender said with a grin before extending her hand in greeting.

“My name is Gina. Yourselves?”

Patsy and Delia introduced themselves.

“So, what do ya’ do for a livin’?” Gina asked while serving some other customers to the side of them. 

“We live in London,” Delia said, “I’m a nurse and Patsy is a midwife.”

“Nurses?! Well I’ll be damned!” Gina leaned in close.

“I know just the person you two just have to meet! You see that woman right there in that booth?” 

Bewildered, Patsy and Delia turned in the direction of where the other pointed and spotted a lone figure in a booth.

“Yes.”

“Well she’s an American doctor!”

Delia and Patsy exchanged surprised glances.

“Why don’t you two go and introduce yourselves? She’s nice, I promise, just been a little down lately. Cheer her up, you will, nurses and all.”

Delia ended up tugging Patsy in the direction of the booth, her expression that of mild surprise. As they neared the table, the two examined the lonely woman. She had dark brown hair that hung limply about a gaunt, pale face with high cheek bones and inquisitive eyes. She wore an old gray Air Force jacket as an overcoat and her knee-high boots peeped out from under the table as she lounged lazily back in the booth. An ash tray sat in the middle of the table, next to a glass of untouched whiskey, which she fingered thoughtfully. In fact, she was so engrossed with the contents of the glass that she almost didn’t look up when Patsy and Delia stopped at the table. 

“Hello,” Delia said, cracking one of her friendly smiles, “This seat taken?”

The woman’s face snapped up and the two were met with a shock of dark blue eyes. She seemed to size them up, her eyes piercing into them. Wordlessly the woman gestured across from herself and then drained the whole glass of whiskey in one swig. 

“Y’all new?” the woman asked gruffly in that characteristic accent. Her voice was rough but not unkind.

“Yes, this is Patsy and I am Delia.”

“I’m Katrina. People call me ‘Doc’.” The three shook hands.

“So you’re American?” Patsy managed to say, eyeing her warily.

“Yes. Is that a Welsh accent I’m hearing?” Doc asked, glancing at Delia. The Welshwoman beamed.

“Of course.”

With a sly smile, Doc murmured in something in Welsh, something Patsy could not understand. Delia’s own grin widened and she responded in kind.  
Gesturing slightly at Patsy, Doc seemed to direct a question at Delia, in which the other nodded vigorously, looking slightly awed.

“So Delia says you’re not from around here,” Doc said, an apologetic look on her face, “may I ask from where you are from?”

“I…yes, I’m from Singapore,” Patsy said, glowering slightly at Delia, who just shrugged off her withering look.

“Singapore…” Doc breathed, though she was cut off when a porter came by, looking slightly disheveled. 

“Drinks, Doc?” she asked.

“Of course, where are my manners?” exclaimed the American. Looking pointedly at Patsy, she scrunched up her face in concentration before saying, “A White Russian for Red here.”

Turning her calculative gaze on Delia, her face brightened as she said, “And a Manhattan for Shorty. I’ll have that whiskey again.” The porter nodded and breezed off, squeezing through the bodies on the dancefloor as Patsy and Delia gazed at Doc questioningly. 

“Now where were we…ah, yes, Singapore!” Doc exclaimed, now working at the sleeve of her jacket, rolling it up systematically, “Now I know where that places you.”

Patsy and Delia observed warily as Doc exposed her forearm, shielding it from the view of others. 

“Before I became an American,” Doc said in a low voice, her eyes catching Patsy’s, “I was born a Jew in Nazi occupied Poland.”

She then turned her hand, revealing a long narrow tattoo stretching along her forearm. Delia’s eyes widened in shock as a soft gasp came from Patsy. Doc was silent for a moment, letting the other two examine the graffiti in the dim lighting. 

“I…May I?” Patsy murmured, her hand poised above Doc’s wrist. Glancing at Delia, Doc nodded softly, and Patsy reached down and traced along the tattoo, not in a moment of sensuality but out of a moment of awe and respect. 

“How old were you?” Doc asked when Patsy retracted her hand, looking resigned. 

“Eight…when the camp was liberated.”

Doc nodded sadly, a dark look of pain in her eyes.

“I’d like to say I was too young, I was three going on four, but sometimes I remember things, terrible things…” Doc’s voice trailed off and a sad smile touched her lips.

“It’s a scar we must live with,” Patsy stated simply, her right hand instinctively grasping Delia’s left. 

“Of course, how well put,” Doc said, rolling her sleeve back, “I daresay, this conversation is dark enough. Now, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I’m a nurse, I work on Men’s surgical at the London, and Pats is a district midwife,” Delia said brightly, though she side-glanced at Patsy and squeezed her hand comfortingly. Doc raised her eyebrows.

“No way! Men’s Surgical, really?! How on earth do you tolerate it?” Doc demanded, her dimples growing more pronounced as the quirk of a smile danced on her lips.

“Some days are better than others,” Delia said in a dark tone, though her eyes were bright with mirth.

“When I was training in Chicago I worked in Men’s Surgical, but I only lasted three weeks,” Doc admitted shamelessly, “a patient tried to pull me into the linen closet and I decked him in the face. I was done after that.”

The table diffused into fits of laughter before Doc turned to Patsy.

“So midwifery? How’s that?”

“It can be very interesting at times,” Patsy said in a serious tone, “Poplar is more scandalous then I would have ever thought before I transferred. Now, what do you do? The bartender said you were a doctor?”

Doc spread her arms wide and smiled pleasantly.

“Yes, I’m a general physician, but I specialize in emergency medicine. I work with the Red Cross now. They are trying to persuade me to go to the Middle East to fight smallpox.”

Delia and Patsy’s eye widened.

“Will you go?” Delia asked, stunned. Doc was already vigorously shaking her head.

“No, I’ve seen it once, and once is enough for me.” An involuntary shudder ran through Doc’s body. “It is the most gruesome disease I have ever seen. The first time I saw it I got sick. And there is nothing you can do but sit there and watch and tell them it’s going to be fine when it’s really not.” A dark shadow past over Doc’s features, as if she was reliving a nightmare.

Before Patsy could say anything to relieve her distress, the porter arrived with their drinks.

“Whisky, Doc-”

“Thank you.”

“White Russian, Manhattan.” The porter set a glass full of creamy liquid in front of Patsy and a glass of amber in front of Delia. Without another word the porter turned and left.

“Erm, Doc,” Patsy said hesitantly, “Don’t we pay her?”

Doc looked up from her drink, clearly bewildered.

“Didn’t Gina tell you?”

“Tell us what?” Delia asked dubiously.

Leaning back, Doc took a sip of her whisky and said, “I’m the co-owner of this place. I made half the investment. I don’t need to pay for shit.”

At the casual swearing, Delia and Patsy gazed at her strangely.   
Leaning forward, a sly smile touched Doc’s lips.

“Now, how long have you two been together? You seem very close for first-timers.”  
Patsy opened her mouth and shut it again, unaccustomed to the American’s direct approach. To her, it was rude and disrespectful, but she was sure Doc meant no harm by it.

“Um, four years,” Patsy stammered.

Doc let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Impressive! Does the nurse’s home let you share a room or…”

“We have quarters at a nunnery in Poplar,” Delia said, attempting to match Doc’s openness.  
Doc released a snort into her drink.

“You two…at a nunnery?! Oh, ha ha ha!” The other woman exploded, “How on earth do you manage that?!”

Patsy’s face went several shades darker in response, answering Doc’s question.

Trying to control her mirth, Doc managed, “Please, I mean no harm, I was just curious. And that is quite impressive by the way. Now, please, are you going to try your drinks?”

Throughout the whole conversation neither of the other two girls had touched their drinks, too fascinated by the strange woman sitting across from them. At her prompting, Delia was the first to take a swig, smacking her lips and nodding appreciatively. 

“Very good choice, Doc,” Delia said. Doc dipped her head politely in response.

Being a little apprehensive, Patsy tasted her drink and found it much to her liking.   
Patsy was going to say so when the porter reappeared.

“Doc, this came in today,” the porter said, depositing a small wooden box on the table.

“Ah, yes, how delightful,” Doc said, rubbing her hands together, “Thank you.”

The porter disappeared and the American pulled the box close, eyeing the other two scandalously. 

“Are either of you opposed to smoking grass?” Doc asked, her thumb on the clasp of the box.

Shocked, Patsy stammered, “We’ve…we’ve never…”

“Ah…” Doc said, looking hesitant, “Would you like to…”

“What…what is it like?” Delia asked, through a blush.

“It’s harmless, really,” Doc explained, “Makes you feel happy, hungry, and then horny. And then you fall asleep. Safer than aspirin.”

Delia looked at Patsy imploringly.

“Pats?”

“You never liked smoking,” Patsy stated neutrally. 

“Would you mind if I wanted to try it though?” Delia countered.

“No, of course not.”

Throughout the exchange of words, Doc switched her gaze between the two of them.  
Patsy turned to Doc expectantly.

“Want one too, Red?” Doc asked cautiously.

Patsy nodded once, one jerk-like motion. A wide smile broke across Doc’s face.

“…here we are,” She said, exposing three joints after cracking the box open, “Jamaica’s finest, might I add.”

The joints were passed around and Patsy clamped it in her teeth as she reached for her lighter. Delia awkwardly held it in her hand while Doc was also searching her own matchbox. 

Patsy found her lighter, but first gestured for Delia to follow her own suit before lighting Delia’s joint and then her own. Across from them, the American had found her matchbox and had lit her joint, the smell of sulfur mingling with the first waves of marijuana smoke. Patsy took a practiced breath and let the smoke fill her lungs before releasing it, clouding the light fixture above them. Beside her, Delia was reduced into a fit of coughing, her eyes tearing up. 

“Hold your breath when you breathe it in,” Patsy murmured gently, letting her body relax slightly as Doc released a string of “o’s” across from them. Delia nodded, and then followed Patsy’s instructions the second time, concentration furrowing her brow. 

Several minutes passed, in which smoke shrouded both the table and their senses. Around them, people had begun to crowd in on the dancefloor, getting more risqué with their dance movements. Doc was the first to speak.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, “but here comes my date. Do you mind if I went for a dance?” Patsy and Delia looked up expectantly, (through bleary, red-rimmed eyes), only to see that a dark skinned man had just entered the basement. 

“Wha…” Delia slurred, bursting into a fit of giggles, “I thought…”

“That I’m like you two? No, not exactly,” Doc smirked, “I have a wide variety of tastes.”

The man neared the table and sniffed the air.

“My baby already cracked open the grass,” he rumbled, (he must’ve been around six foot five, easy). The man wrapped his arms around Doc and kissed her full on the mouth. Doc pulled away after a few seconds and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

“Stop it, you’re scaring the gays,” she teased, winking at a bewildered Patsy and Delia. And with that, Doc left them.

After that, things became too blurry to remember.

Patsy recalled dancing with Delia, first a respectable waltz, then a poor excuse of a tango, and then to something that would hardly be called dancing, but more just grinding against her as the two weathered the throng of dancing women around them.

She remembered distinctly being offered another joint by Doc a few hours later, in which she pulled Delia aside and gently blew the smoke into her accepting mouth before pressing her lips eagerly on the Welshwoman’s. 

After that the two drank a sizable amount of liquor and soon found themselves in the restroom corridor trying to mute their moans as they made out against the wall.   
It wasn’t until Delia was pulling Patsy back up the stairs that she finally came to herself. When the cold air hit her face, Patsy couldn’t hold it in much longer.  
She retched quietly on the side of the road, giggling the whole while as Delia held her hair back. After that she felt much better, and the two began to walk back to their hotel.

When they finally reached their room, Patsy plopped on the bed, exhaustion flooding her limbs. She squinted at the clock blearily as Delia locked the door. It was two in the morning. Groaning, Patsy sat up to remove her shoes, readying for bed.

“Pats.”

“Huh?”

“This is a marriage mattress.”

“Mm-hmm,” Patsy agreed without looking up.

“…so…”

“So?”

Delia released an impatient huff, making Patsy’s head snap up.

“I’ve always dreamed of sharing a marriage mattress with you,” the dark-haired woman said forlornly. Patsy tensed.

“Delia…”

“What?” Delia asked innocently.

“It’s two in the morning.”

“How very observant of you.”

“We have a train to catch at eight, in four hours.”

“So…”

“So, I don’t understand what on earth you are proposing,” Patsy responded hotly.

“Patience Mount, I want my way with you,” Delia retorted in an equal tone.

“Deels,” Patsy suddenly sighed, “we don’t have time for sex!”

“What?” Delia exclaimed with a huff, “We won’t be, what, fifteen minutes?”

Patsy’s eyes nearly boggled out of her head.

“Dear Lord Delia,” Patsy stammered as the other straddled her lap, “Fifteen minutes?!”

“Yep,” the shorter woman said, wrapping her arms around Patsy’s neck and kissing her gently. 

“No, we’ll oversleep and miss our train.”

In response, Delia retaliated by moving her kiss down Patsy’s neck and onto her collarbone, her hands unclasping the first two buttons on Patsy’s cotton shirt.

“Ten minutes,” Delia muttered between kisses.

“Delia,” Patsy moaned quietly, her eyes fluttering as her resolve began to crumble. 

“I mean, we can make it five, but that might be pushing it,” Delia said nonchalantly at Patsy’s chest. Her hands her idly plucking at the top of Patsy’s trousers.   
Patsy moaned, pressing her forehand against Delia’s left shoulder. Delia smirked.

“You’re such a pushover, Pats,” she humored adoringly.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Patsy muttered dejectedly into Delia’s breasts.

“It’ll be…our little secret,” Delia gasped between kisses after forcing Patsy’s face up and exposing her neck. The Welshwoman gently pressed Patsy back onto the bed before leaning over the ginger and engulfing her with a passion that rivaled anything that occurred between the two of them before.


	2. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy wakes up to discover they've missed their train, as anticipated.

Patsy woke up cold and with a throbbing migraine. Squinting through a film of grime that covered her eyes, Patsy tried to train her gaze to examine her surroundings, but at first everything was blurred. The first thing she noticed was that she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on. Pasty was laying on her stomach, her right arm dangling over the side of the bed precariously. Groaning as she stretched her sore limbs, Patsy tried to read the time, only to discover that the alarm clock had been knocked off the nightstand. With a grunt, the ginger-haired woman rolled over, in search of her partner.

Delia lay next to her, in similar disarray. Patsy’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Delia’s pale, nude body, sprawled out lazily on her stomach as well. Delia’s hair was undone and pooled over her shoulders before being periodically blown back and forth in front of her nose as she breathed. The covers had been tossed to the floor, as well as every single article of clothing that they had been wearing.

“Delia,” Patsy whispered, nudging the other on the shoulder, “Delia, wake up.”

“Huh?”

“Wake up.”

“Go away.” Delia’s hands seemed to instinctively feel around in search of the covers, but soon gave up when none were felt.

“Delia,” Patsy said gently, brushing some hair out of her face.

“I’m cold,” Delia mumbled.

“Is there anything else?” Patsy scoffed.

After a thoughtful pause, Delia added, “I’m hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Patsy sighed, rising from the bed. Her legs wobbled somewhat and her muscles screamed in protest at first, but she grit her teeth as she began to hunt down her clothes.

When she managed that, Patsy rearranged the covers back on top of Delia, and found the clock. She sighed tiredly when she discovered it was ten in the morning. Going over to the telephone, Patsy dialed for room service, ordered breakfast, and then hung up before calling the train station and asking for the next train to London. The next one would leave at two in that afternoon.

She then called Nonnatus. It rang twice.

“Nonnatus house, midwife.”

It was Trixie. Patsy silently thanked God.

“Trixie, it’s Patsy.”

The voice over the line changed.

“Dear me Patsy, where on earth are you? You two were supposed to be back a half an hour ago!” Trixie exclaimed.

“I’m afraid we missed our train, we’ll take the two o’clock this afternoon.”

“How did you manage that?!”

Patsy glanced at Delia’s slumbering form and a smile touched her lips.

“Oh, we were playing a very interesting card game.”

After exchanging pleasantries, Patsy hung up and collected the rest of Delia’s clothes from the floor. With a minute to spare, room service came with two orders of breakfast, in which Patsy took the tray from the porter and only cracked the door open as much as it needed to go to let her back in. Setting the tray on the nightstand, Patsy gently shook Delia awake and the two began to eat. When the meal was finished, Delia was the first to speak.

“The two o’clock?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Patsy leaned in, her breath hot on Delia’s face.

“Heaps and heaps,” she murmured, “Because now we have four hours until our train.”

There was a dark glint in Delia’s eyes.

“Well, what are we going to do until then?” Delia asked idly.

Patsy’s face suddenly grew serious.

“We’re sleeping.”

So they slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Doc is a character of mine, please don't hate her. Her purpose was to bring Patsy out of her shell and help the two transition into the atmosphere.


End file.
